To Write a Wrong

by Jen Turano

  Mildred raised a hand to her throat. “When have you had stitches?”

  “I don’t believe now is exactly the moment for me to recount all the times I’ve needed them, Grandmother. I’ll simply leave it that I’ve had stitches before and clearly didn’t suffer any lasting repercussions because of them.”

  Mildred narrowed her eyes on him. “You’ve had stitches numerous times in the past?”

  Dr. Gibbons cleared his throat and sent Herman a telling look. “Perhaps it would be best if Ann sees after Daphne. Mildred, while not distressed, certainly seems agitated.”

  Mildred released a snort, sent Dr. Gibbons a scowl, then returned to waving smelling salts under Daphne’s nose, which, once again, did nothing to restore Daphne to consciousness.

  “Since your grandmother is now occupied, as well as obviously determined to prove she’s not overly agitated,” Dr. Gibbons said quietly, gesturing to a chair that sat on the other side of the piano, “shall we begin?”

  The next twenty minutes were not what Herman would consider enjoyable, although he barely noticed the last few stitches Dr. Gibbons made because Mildred had abandoned the smelling salts and begun to dribble water over Daphne’s face. Leaning forward, which earned him a rebuke from the doctor, Herman stilled as Daphne’s lashes began to flutter.

  “We should put her glasses on,” Ann said, snatching up Daphne’s glasses that someone had placed on a small table. She slid them into place right as Daphne’s eyes opened, closed, then opened again, her gaze darting around the room before it settled on him.

  Her lips curved into a smile. “Herman. Oh, thank goodness, you’re alive. I had the most unusual dream where you were covered in blood and looking quite as if you were at your last prayers.”

  He returned the smile. “As you can see, I’m fit as a fiddle.”

  “She seems confused,” Mildred said as Daphne’s eyes closed again and her forehead puckered, as if she’d taken to thinking about something troubling.

  “I’m sure she is confused. She’s been unconscious for over thirty minutes,” Herman said.

  Daphne’s eyes flashed open. “I was unconscious?”

  Ann took hold of Daphne’s hand. “We were beginning to worry because you were out for so long.”

  “That was hardly professional of me, especially after I’ve made such an effort to convince Herman I’m no longer prone to swooning.”

  Mildred’s eyes immediately narrowed on Daphne. “Why would you make an effort to convince Herman of such a thing?”

  Daphne shifted her attention from Ann to Mildred, blinking a few times, as if she were still having difficulty focusing. “Ah, Mrs. Henderson. I didn’t realize you were here, but . . . what are you doing here?”

  “Herman insisted I see after you while Dr. Gibbons patched him up.”

  Daphne blinked again. “That was very nice of you.”

  “I didn’t have a choice in the matter because, again, Herman insisted. But returning to the swooning business? Can it be that I’ve been right about you all along and that you are up to some manner of subterfuge?”

  Daphne raised a slightly shaky hand to her forehead and began to rub it. “I’m not sure I’m quite up to answering so many questions right now, Mrs. Henderson.”

  “And I have to agree with that,” Herman said. “You’ve suffered a traumatic incident, so I’m certain my grandmother will concur that this is hardly the moment for questions.”

  “But Miss Beekman might actually answer my questions truthfully since her guard is down,” Mildred countered. “I mean, yes, you did encourage her to stab you, but how was it possible that she was able to draw blood? I think it’s only right that I should expect an answer to that very important question.”

  Daphne’s eyes widened before she caught Herman’s eye. “Goodness, I did stab you, didn’t I?” Her gaze drifted to his arm, her eyes widening to the size of saucers. “Are those stitches?”

  Mildred nodded. “Seventeen of them. You sliced him up rather dreadfully.”

  “Honestly, Grandmother, you’re not helping the situation,” Herman said before he moved next to Ann, who scooted out of the way to give him room to kneel next to Daphne. “You mustn’t fret about my stitches because it wasn’t your fault.”

  “I don’t know how you figure that. I stabbed you, which means the fault definitely rests with me.”

  “Indeed it does,” Mildred said, nodding more vigorously than ever. “And when you pair that stabbing with what I can only describe as shady activities on your part, such as when you almost took off my head with a croquet ball, I’m convinced it’s now time for you to pack your bags and return to wherever it is you’re from.”

  Herman ran a hand through his hair, wincing when the motion left his arm burning more than ever. “Forgive me, Grandmother. You know I appreciate how protective you’ve been over the years, but there’s no need for you to protect me from Daphne. I assure you, she’s not out to harm me.”

  “She stabbed you, so she’s already harmed you. And, she has a book about poisonous plants stashed in her bag. I certainly won’t stand by and remain silent, not when she might decide to poison you next.”

  Daphne’s brows drew together. “I wouldn’t poison Herman. Besides, I’ve yet to find time to read that book, so I have no idea how to go about poisoning anyone.”

  “And that type of thinking is exactly why I want you gone from this house with all due speed,” Mildred shot back.

  Daphne opened her mouth, but before she could respond, Andrew strode into the room.

  “We’ve got a bit of a situation happening in the library, Herman,” he began. “Agent Clifton has gathered all the remaining guests there and has begun questioning them about the recent incident. I’m afraid your writer friends are not pleased to discover they’re now considered suspects of foul play.”

  “Why would any of Herman’s writer friends be considered suspects?” Mildred asked. “Miss Beekman is the one who stabbed him, so I would think Agent Clifton’s time would be better spent questioning her.”

  “They’re considered suspects,” Andrew began, “because after inspecting the rapier Daphne was wielding, Agent Clifton discovered the protective sleeve had been cut. If you’ll recall, Daphne was typing most of the afternoon and wasn’t expected to participate in any of the fencing activities. That means she wouldn’t have had an opportunity to tamper with the weapons.”

  Mildred’s eyes widened. “Did you say the rapier was tampered with?”

  “I don’t think now is the time to continue this conversation,” Herman said, his eyes darting to his grandmother, which earned him a grunt from Andrew.

  “You need to stop coddling your grandmother,” Andrew said. “Clearly, something troubling is afoot. It’s not fair to her to continue to shield her from the unpleasant fact that someone besides Irwin is obviously out to murder you.”

  Mildred immediately took a seat on the divan, evidently not noticing that she was now sitting on Daphne’s legs. “Murder?”

  “Indeed,” Andrew said.

  For the span of what felt like hours, a myriad of expressions crossed Mildred’s face, expressions that went from disbelief to disappointment and then to temper. “How long have you suspected that more than one person might want you dead?” she finally asked.

  Herman rose to his feet, deciding now was the time to disclose all, as well as answer his grandmother’s question, because Andrew was right. He was doing a disservice to Mildred by leaving her in the dark.

  “I’ve suspected it ever since Irwin didn’t know anything about the boat and was also taken aback when he was pressed about prowling around the secret passageways in my house in the city.”

  The temper in Mildred’s eyes increased. “You never mentioned anything about any prowling.”

  “Because I knew you would worry needlessly.”

  “My worry wouldn’t be needless, because someone seems determined to kill you.”

  “I said almost exactly those same words
to him not too long ago,” Daphne said, retreating back into silence when Mildred shot her a look before she settled a glare on Herman.

  “So, if I’m understanding correctly,” she snapped, “Agent Cooper Clifton has remained on-site not because he’s recovering from a blow to his head, but because you’re still facing some unknown threat?”

  Herman rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m afraid so.”

  Mildred drew herself up. “I see. And while I’m sure you thought you were being considerate of my nerves by withholding from me the dire situation you’re facing, I find I’m in full agreement with Andrew’s suggestion.” She lifted her chin. “Madness has obviously descended upon our house, which means I’m now going to insist you discontinue coddling me. I’d like to hear the truth—all of it.”

  “I don’t believe now is really the time to hear a full disclosure, Mildred,” Dr. Gibbons said, looking up from where he’d been returning his needle and thread to his medical bag. “Your nerves have already suffered from witnessing Herman being stabbed. I was just about to recommend you repair to your room and take a nap. Perhaps this evening you’ll be up for hearing all of Herman’s truths.”

  Mildred’s eyes flashed. “This is hardly the moment to suggest a nap. In fact, I’m now going to expect you to discontinue coddling me as well.” She gave a bob of her head to Herman. “With all that nonsense out of the way, tell me everything. We’ll be far more capable of dealing with whatever trouble is currently stalking you if we present a united front, something that will be impossible to do if I’m kept out of the loop.”

  Before Herman could disclose a single thing, though, a knock on the door drew everyone’s attention. A second later, Martha Mulvey entered the room.

  “Forgive me for interrupting,” Martha began, “but I’m afraid the situation in the library is escalating. The writers are now hurling accusations at one another, and I’m afraid those accusations may soon be followed by fists. Sheldon’s trying to aid Agent Clifton with calming the situation down, but I believe they’d appreciate some help. Agent Clifton mentioned something about needing more muscle.”

  “Oh for heaven’s sake. Muscle isn’t what’s needed; some common sense is,” Mildred said, pushing herself up from the divan and marching out of the room.

  “We should definitely repair to the library,” Daphne said, swinging her legs over the side of the divan and getting to her feet, wobbling just a bit.

  Herman was by her side a second later, lending her a steadying hand. “You should stay here and rest. You’re clearly unsteady on your feet. I’ll help Cooper.”

  “My legs are simply asleep because Mildred was sitting on them. They’ll wake up in a moment. Besides, staying behind is not an option since it’s my job to—”

  “Your job to what?” Martha pressed when Daphne simply stopped talking, evidently realizing that Martha was still in the room.

  “Ah, well, take notes,” Daphne said, taking hold of the arm Herman offered her. “One never knows when the need for thorough notes will come in handy.” She stomped one foot against the floor, then the other. “I think I can make it to the library now, where I’ll immediately begin taking some, um, notes.”

  Herman’s lips twitched as he headed for the door with Daphne still stomping beside him, Ann, Andrew, and Martha following close behind. As they reached the library door, the sound of raised voices was impossible to miss.

  “This is going to be interesting,” Daphne muttered.

  Unable to argue with that, Herman walked through the door, taking a moment to take in the chaos unfolding before his eyes.

  Cooper was standing in the middle of the room, trying to quiet everyone down by waving his hands in the air, not that anyone was paying him the least little attention. Most of the authors gathered in the library were shouting at one another, the din so loud it was difficult to make out exactly what anyone was saying.

  “Seems to me you’d be the one most likely to want Herman dead,” Herman heard Martin Corrigan shout at Jay. “You’ve mentioned more than a few times how Herman’s last book has gone into its fifth printing. None of your books have enjoyed that many prints.”

  Jay drew himself up. “That’s ridiculous. I’m not going to kill a man simply because he outsells me.”

  “Murders have happened for lesser reasons,” Martin threw back at him.

  “You’re the one who was supposed to fence with him,” Jay shot back. “If you ask me, that’s telling in and of itself, especially after you ceded your time with Herman to me. Seems to me that suggests you were looking for a scapegoat.”

  Martin’s face began to mottle. “I have no reason to murder Herman. I’ll never sell as many books as he sells, but unlike you, I’m content with my sales. I have no need to measure my success against any other author.”

  “I don’t know a single author who is content with their sales,” Charles called from where he, curiously enough, was sitting in a chair, far removed from the fray, the Montague Moreland book he’d borrowed from Ann open in his lap. “I mean, granted, I sell more books than most of you assembled here, but I’m always looking to increase my sales.”

  James and Frederick Basil, brothers who wrote humorous mysteries together and who’d remained in the background for most of the house party, exchanged glances before Frederick stepped forward. “You only sell more books because your family goes out and buys all of them.”

  Charles shut the Montague Moreland book with a snap. “That is blatantly untrue.”

  James shook his head. “It’s not and you know it. Frederick and I have seen members of your family descending on bookshops and then leaving with every book of yours that shop had for sale.”

  Charles rose to his feet. “Are you suggesting I’m a cheat?”

  “There’s no suggesting about it,” James said.

  Instead of responding to that, Charles headed for the door, his way blocked by Cooper, who was now looking rather harried, as if his time as a Pinkerton had never prepared him for dealing with a room filled with temperamental writers. Spinning on his heel, Charles stalked his way over to a window that flanked Herman’s desk, presenting everyone with his back.

  A loud whistle from Daphne had the room, surprisingly enough, falling silent.

  “If I could have your undivided attention, my darling, darling writers,” she began, sending the room at large a lovely smile when all the gentlemen turned her way. She then gave a languid wave of her hand, quite as if she’d suddenly remembered some of the suggestions Madame Calve had given her about how to attract and hold attention. “While I understand that the unfortunate incident that recently happened between myself and Herman has set everyone’s nerves on edge, if I may make a suggestion?”

  “Of course you may,” Jay called, returning the smile Daphne was now sending him.

  “And aren’t you just a sugar plum to be so accommodating?” she asked, which had Herman swallowing a laugh.

  “To continue,” Daphne said, as Herman tried to get his amusement in check, “what I believe all of you are forgetting is that you write mysteries for a living. Clearly, the rapier I stabbed Herman with was tampered with and could have been tampered with by someone in this very room. I would think all of you, at least the innocent ones, would be putting your talent for writing mysteries into action.”

  “You think we authors should try to figure out who did it?” Jay asked slowly.

  Daphne beamed at him. “Too right you should. You can sift through clues, discuss everyone’s whereabouts at the time of the incident, then discuss who might benefit the most if Herman would have suffered a mortal wound instead of the one I gave him.”

  “Herman’s wound was not insignificant, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” Mildred said from where she’d taken up a spot beside Valentine Hageboom and Albert Gallatin, two writers who’d obviously felt uncomfortable with all the shouting and had taken refuge behind a large fainting couch that was placed in front of a bookshelf.

  “I wasn’t sugge
sting it was,” Daphne returned. “Nevertheless, it wasn’t a mortal wound, but it could have been if the rapier had been wielded by a more experienced fencer.” She nodded to Cooper. “Perhaps we should begin by having you tell us what you’ve discovered so far.”

  Cooper raked a hand through his hair. “I’ve not discovered much, other than that the protective shield was split on purpose.”

  “A concerning discovery, and one that should be written down. If there are no objections, then I, as Herman’s secretary, will act as the notetaker as we strive to puzzle this mystery out.”

  No one objected to Daphne’s offer, and after sending the room at large a smile, she nodded to Charles, who’d moved from the window and was standing beside Herman’s desk. “Would you be a dear, Charles, and bring me my notepad? It’s on top of the pile there. It’s the same one you so helpfully wrote down some suggestions in about my pirate.”

  Charles picked up the notepad, but instead of walking to Daphne’s side to hand it over, he began reading over the notes on the page, his brow furrowing the longer he read.

  “Have you thought of something more regarding my pirate?” Daphne asked, which earned her a wave of a hand from Charles in return but not a response.

  “Daphne can’t begin to take notes, Charles,” Jay began, “until she has her notepad. If you’ve decided you don’t care to help us puzzle out this mystery, just say so, but you’re being somewhat rude by withholding her notepad and delaying our discussion.”

  Charles lifted his head. “Since my integrity has been unjustly questioned, I was prepared to sit this out and allow all of you to blunder about playing detective. However”—he smiled—“I believe I’ve just figured out who the culprit is, and I assure you, it’s not a person anyone here has even thought about.”

  “Do not say that you’re about to try to convince everyone Perkins is to blame,” Martha Mulvey said, stepping forward as Perkins, who’d been standing still as a statue by the door, began edging up against a bookcase, almost as if he were hoping to avoid becoming the object of everyone’s attention again. “In this particular case, I’m fairly sure the butler didn’t do it since I was helping Sheldon lay out protective gear, and I can vouch for Perkins in that he never got anywhere near the equipment.”